Poirot nodded his head. He said, 'Yes, I understand.'
He added, 'You were not in England yourself at the time of her death?'
'No, I went abroad on July 9th and returned on August 1st. Elinor's telegram followed me about from place to place. I hurried home as soon as I got the news.'
Poirot said, 'It must have been a great shock to you. You had cared for the girl very much.'
Roddy said, and there was bitterness and exasperation in his voice, 'Why should these things happen to one? It's not as though one wished them to happen! It is contrary to all – to all one's ordered expectation of life!'
Hercule Poirot said, 'Ah, but life is like that! It does not permit you to arrange and order it as you will. It will not permit you to escape emotion, to live by the intellect and by reason! You cannot say, 'I will feel so much and no more.' Life, Mr. Welman, whatever else it is, is not reasonable!'
Roderick Welman murmured, 'So it seems.'
Poirot said, 'A spring morning, a girl's face – and the well-ordered sequence of existence is routed.'
Roddy winced and Poirot went on: 'Sometimes it is little more than that – a face. What did you really know of Mary Gerrard, Mr. Welman?'
Roddy said heavily, 'What did I know? So little; I see that now. She was sweet, I think, and gentle; but really, I know nothing – nothing at all… That's why, I suppose, I don't miss her.'
His antagonism and resentment were gone now. He spoke naturally and simply. Hercule Poirot, as he had a knack of doing, had penetrated the other's defences. Roddy seemed to feel a certain relief in unburdening himself.
He said, 'Sweet – gentle – not very clever. Sensitive, I think, and kind. She had a refinement that you would not expect to find in a girl of her class.'
'Was she the kind of girl who would make enemies unconsciously?'
Roddy shook his head vigorously. 'No, no, I can't imagine anyone disliking her – really disliking her, I mean. Spite is different.'
Poirot said quickly, 'Spite? So there was spite, you think?'
Roddy said absently, 'Must have been – to account for that letter.'
Poirot said sharply, 'What letter?'
Roddy flushed and looked annoyed. He said, 'Oh, nothing important.'
Poirot repeated, 'What letter?'
'An anonymous letter.' He spoke reluctantly.
'When did it come? To whom was it written?'
Rather unwillingly Roddy explained.
Hercule Poirot murmured, 'It is interesting, that. Can I see it, this letter?'
'Afraid you can't. As a matter of fact, I burned it.'
'Now, why did you do that, Mr. Welman?'
Roddy said rather stiffly, 'It seemed the natural thing to do at the time.'
Poirot said, 'And in consequence of this letter, you and Miss Carlisle went hurriedly down to Hunterbury?'
'We went down, yes. I don't know about hurriedly.'
'But you were a little uneasy, were you not? Perhaps, even, a little alarmed?'
Roddy said even more stiffly, 'I won't admit that.'
Hercule Poirot cried, 'But surely that was only natural! Your inheritance – that which was promised you – was in jeopardy! Surely it is natural that you should be unquiet about the matter! Money, it is very important!'
'Not as important as you make out.'
Poirot said, 'Such unworldliness is indeed remarkable!'
Roddy flushed. He said, 'Oh, of course, the money did matter to us. We weren't completely indifferent to it. But our main object was to – to see my aunt and make sure she was all right.'
Poirot said, 'You went down there with Miss Carlisle. At that time your aunt had not made a will. Shortly afterward she had another attack other illness. She then wishes to make a will, but, conveniently for Miss Carlisle, perhaps, she dies that night before that will can be made.'
'Look here, what are you hinting at?' Roddy's face was wrathful.
Poirot answered him like a flash: 'You have told me, Mr. Welman, as regards the death of Mary Gerrard, that the motive attributed to Elinor Carlisle is absurd – that she was, emphatically, not that kind of a person. But there is now another interpretation. Elinor Carlisle had reason to fear that she might be disinherited in favor of an outsider. The letter has warned her – her aunt's broken murmurings confirm that fear. In the hall below is an attache case with various drugs and medical supplies. It is easy to abstract a tube of morphine. And afterward, so I have learned, she sits in the sickroom alone with her aunt while you and the nurses are at dinner.'
Roddy cried, 'Good God, Monsieur Poirot, what are you suggesting now? That Elinor killed Aunt Laura? Of all the ridiculous ideas!'
Poirot said, 'But you know, do you not, that an order to exhume Mrs. Welman's body has been applied for?'
'Yes, I know. But they won't find anything!'
'Suppose they do?'
'They won't!' Roddy spoke positively.
Poirot shook his head. 'I am not so sure. And there was only one person, you realize, who would benefit by Mrs. Welman's dying at that moment.'
Roddy sat down. His face was white, and he was shaking a little. He stared at Poirot. Then he said, 'I thought – you were on her side.'
Hercule Poirot said, 'Whatever side one is on, one must face facts! I think, Mr. Welman, that you have so far preferred in life to avoid facing an awkward truth whenever it is possible.'
Roddy said, 'Why harrow oneself by looking on the worst side?'
Hercule Poirot replied gravely, 'Because it is sometimes necessary.'
He paused a minute and then said, 'Let us face the possibility that your aunt's death may be found to be due to the administration of morphine. What then?'
Roddy shook his head helplessly. 'I don't know.'
'But you must try to think. Who could have given it to her? You must admit that Elinor Carlisle had the best opportunity to do so?'
'What about the nurses?'
'Either of them could have done so, certainly. But Nurse Hopkins was concerned about the disappearance of the tube at the time and mentioned it openly. There was no need for her to do so. The death certificate had been signed. Why call attention to the missing morphine if she was guilty? It will probably bring her censure for carelessness as it is, and if she poisoned Mrs. Welman it was surely idiotic to draw attention to the morphine. Besides, what could she gain by Mrs. Welman's death? Nothing. The same applies to Nurse O'Brien. She could have administered morphine, could have taken it from Nurse Hopkins's case; but, again -why should she?'
Roddy shook his head. 'All that's true enough.' Poirot said, 'Then there is yourself.'
Roddy started like a nervous horse. 'Me?'
'Certainly. You could have abstracted the morphine. You could have given it to Mrs. Welman! You were alone with her for a short period that night. But, again, why should you? If she lived to make a will, it is at least probable that you would have been mentioned in it. So again, you see, there is no motive. Only two people had a motive.'
Roddy's eyes brightened. 'Two people?'
'Yes. One was Elinor Carlisle.'
'And the other?'
Poirot said slowly, 'The other was the writer of that anonymous letter.'
Roddy looked incredulous.
Poirot said, 'Somebody wrote that letter – somebody who hated Mary Gerrard or at least disliked her – somebody who was, as they say, 'on your side.' Somebody, that is, who did not want Mary Gerrard to benefit at Mrs. Welman's death. Now, have you any idea, Mr. Welman, who the writer of that letter could be?'
Roddy shook his head. 'I've no idea at all. It was an illiterate letter, misspelled, cheap-looking.'
